In my heart I’ll remember the spring trees and the taste of fruit early in the morning before the sun rises, high in the sky, and paints the world with color.

I’ll look for you in roses, both red and blue, and hope that somewhere, you’ll be looking for me too.

I’ll speak to you and you’ll hear me as though I’m next to you, whispering in your ear, but I am far from where you look for me and it’ll only be the wind that you hear.

You’ll look for me when it rains at night and when the leaves start to change color, because that’s when you see me - manifesting in the shifting raindrops or hiding behind some tree – so close, but just out of reach.

But I won’t be there, just as you are not when the flowers bloom or when I smell coffee late in the afternoon – no, you’re not there, even though I want you to.

Sorry is a little too late when you’ve been waiting and waiting, looking and looking, searching and searching for someone that isn’t ready to be found. So, let us watch the seasons change and the weather do as it may, because we’re both not ready and people don’t just come around.